What will you write poet?
I write with weaving lines that alternate between rhythms;
With measured beats that will cascade to order cadence
Like drums upon a long ago battlefield,
You can hear their rat a tat, rat a tat still echoing now.
I write with flourish gust of my pen
The metaphors come closing in
As they fight off similes to gain substance in my poem
They slash the likes and as,
Making themselves known to the reader.
I write to the world to show how I feel,
The down trodden days of polical unrest,
Dishearten and sadden what I see.
How to change can only come from words and understanding
With one another to find that common ground.
I write about the animals;
And to nature where they are losing a desperate battle
Locked arm and arm against human interaction
They want their voice heard
And, I poet will give it to them
So, they can rise above
And find a place to coexist
With the ever changing landscape of a world filled with man.
I write of happy times and sad times too
Where new life comes into being
While old slips off the shore
To some distant place far from our reaches
In another realm beyond what we cannot see.
I write, to write what I know
Or to become inspire to write
Something different and new
With hopes that the next poem
Will lead me down new paths to explore.
I try to use paws… Difficult with small key buttons on… Why can’t they make large buttons for… they call a computer? I, dog have hard… with this device. I press… more than one… comes on screen. They said easier… pen or pencil in my… or paws. I will stop… random letters are appearing… makes no sense. Blogging is taking… necessary for me with… I have typing away. I’ll let owner… fine tooth comb to make sure… correct and fix my post.
Small hands reach for words on refrigerator
Take one word then another
Short lines begin to form
Two-line poems on refrigerator stay awhile
Until another idea replaces them
Small notepad with words written
Writing about sibling who is annoying
Short, short stories written were no one can find
Writing continued, on and off through school
Few poems written from class assignments
Saved in a small notebook or in desk
A gap when started working
No poems or writing were produced
A year of low; forced into unemployment
Poem writing to relieve oneself
From not being able to find job
Steadily writing grew from notebook
Copied into word documents many
Early one February morning
A blog was started to post about my poems
Slow and steady it began to gain
Followers flocked to read my poems
Until, I though I’ll compile a book
I gathered few poems; tweak them here and there
Found free self-publishing service for one still unemployed
Create a book, a cover too
Paid for only a proof which I could do
Promote book on blog; few copies sold
From no job but writing kept on going
Another year; another self-published book
More followers joined
Found a niche; writing poetry
Now a poet with nine self-published books
April 19th Prompt: An “origin story” is the back-story of how a character becomes a protagonist, or how super-heroines (or heroes) received their super-powers. Write a poem which imagines your back-story as either a poet or as a super-hero(ine).
I try to write
through the folds.
The crinkles are
getting in the way.
Through folds now hide
a word or two.
I devise this is hard to do.
Crinkle page; crease increase
until I can write no more.
Try to write through
I will not do no more!
April 18th Prompt: “To make this process more difficult” as poet Mark Irwin has written, crumple a sheet of paper. Uncrumple it, but don’t smooth it out and then write a poem on it.
My dog does not write poems.
She unable to anyways; for she has
four paws with no way to hold a pen.
I guess if she did start; would have to use
her mouth to write. But, then the words
she knows is not that much.
They would probably be: sit, stay, watch,
treat, leave it, toy, outside and dog.
Neither does she read poems, even though
it looks like she does when she is having a photo taken
of her with a poetry book under paws.
She would rather sleep the day away.
She plays with toys she grabs
from toy box in bed room.
Zoom around the room; smiles a smile
with doggy grin to say:
OK, right now try to chase me around the room.
She is happy just lounging nearby me,
as I stroke her fur when watching TV.
She loves the walks; we go outside,
sniffs everything, she can find nearby.
She licks to show she loves you,
that is the way she communicates;
besides being a good listener too.
If she does write poems, they are in her head;
For I have not seen any pages lying about.
Her parents which I will never know,
never wrote poems, they have paws too.
My childhood dog was the same too,
no poems I saw, but intelligent eyes
stared out to give me pause;
that if she could, she would have something to say.
My dog inspires me to write;
her actions are what speak volumes
in poems I write about her.
April 16th Prompt: The Polish poet Wisława Szymborska has a poem titled “In Praise of My Sister” that begins, “My sister does not write poems.” Write a poem in praise of someone you know who does not write poems. What does that person do instead?
Wind rustles outside
TV speaks in the background
A dog chomping on her treat
Crunch, crunch her teeth smash it
She looks up; TV ad entices information
Keyboard taps out words on computer
An itch behind the ear; quick scratch
Back to tapping away; a dog’s tongue lapping water
The heater strikes up to keep room warm
Wind continues to rustle outside
Tree branches tap the windows
As if to say I am here
A mouse click; a hand being licked by dog
Fingers tap away completing writing of a poem